


The Hundred Things

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2007-07-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 21:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12418119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: A messy collection of drabbles and one-shots of moments in Hogwarts during the 1970s. Lily/James-centered. (Fanfic100 challenge.)





	1. 016 Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**The Hundred Things: Purple**

_Theme 016_

**Disclaimer:** I own fuzzy slippers! But not _Harry Potter_ or anything associated. Fuzzy slippers!

**A/N:** Urgh. I feel weird about this piece, but it’s just a drabble, so what the heck; I’m posting it. My first drabble, by the way. It feels really broken and awkward. First response to Fanfic100 LJ Challenge. Please review; I would love suggestions on how to make this better, or any drabble-writing.

It was supposed to be purple by now.

“Two more minutes!”

On a good day, and even on not-so-good days, this class usually managed to brighten my spirits. Aside from being one of Slughorn’s favorites (there’s really no denying it), potion-making usually came naturally to me.

I just _couldn’t_ concentrate today. I didn’t even want to think about why…

My hand was gripping the stick so tight that my knuckles were turning white. I continued to stir counterclockwise, apparently to no avail. My potion splashed dangerously close to the cauldron edge; I was stirring so fast.

Stupid potion. _Why_ won’t you turn lighter?

“It’s supposed to be lilac by now, y’know.”

I gritted my teeth at the voice. There was no mistaking _that_ voice.

The annoying voice that pestered me to no end. The voice that posed the ever-present offer of supposedly the best Hogsmeade experience I’ll ever have. The voice that shouted flattery at me from the other end of the corridor. The v—

“Time’s almost up…”

—oice that…

My passionate stirring slowed a bit at what that voice had said today. Or rather, what I had overheard the voice say today.

_“So anyways, what’s up with you and Evans?”_

_It was Black, down in the common room, no doubt talking to Potter._

_I paused in my step, walking down from the girls’ dormitories, suddenly seized with an unusual interest in his answer._

_A pause. “Not much, I guess…Why?”_

_“You haven’t been going on and on about her like you usually do.”_

_Loud sighing, probably followed by the running of a hand through hair, though I couldn’t see him. “I—I just really don’t know. There’s not much left for me to do, I guess. I’ve asked her, nicely, to Hogsmeade this weekend, but of course she said no. I haven’t been bugging her at all, I haven’t been a prat, I haven’t—I just don’t know anymore.”_

_“Just go with that Parker girl! She’s been bugging you for ages.”_

_“I know. I don’t want her though. I only want Lily. You know how it is.”_

_The portrait hole opened, the two boys climbed out, and their voices were cut off as the door shut. I stood still, on the seventh step of the staircase, unable to figure out why his words had affected me so much._

_“I only want Lily.”_

The words echoed in my head now, bouncing around in my brain, as much as I tried to concentrate on the potion.

I involuntarily glanced over at Potter’s cauldron. The potion didn’t look so lilac-y itself. Hah.

I looked up at his face, and his faraway eyes were on me, and looked as if they had been on me for a while. His hand was stirring absentmindedly.

I caught his gaze; he blinked and gave a lazy half-smile.

_…“I only want Lily.”_

The heat was creeping up from my neck, and I looked away.

_…“I only want Lily.”_

“Stop!” Professor Slughorn called.

I threw my hands up in surrender.

It was supposed to be purple by now, anyway.

**_Finis_ **

.mische. 


	2. 095 New Year

**The Hundred Things: New Year**

_Theme 095_

**Disclaimer:** (n.) 1. (law) A voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something; 2. Denial of any connection with or knowledge of; 3. My humble acknowledgment of J.K. Rowling’s brilliance and ownership.

**A/N:** What’s this? I’m posting a SECOND chapter? What is this world coming to...Oh, wait. No. It’s not a continuation. Merely another drabble! And with a 200 word count to boot! Pwahahah. Hah.

“So, any new year’s resolutions? Get over Evans?”

A laugh, and I lazily hurl a worn pillow at Sirius. I’m hanging over the edge of my bed, upside-down, the blood rushing to my face.

Of course, it’s because I’m hanging upside down.

He catches the pillow with ease and squashes it in his arms.

“Seriously?” I ask after a pause.

“Seriously.” His face is straight.

My eyes roll, almost involuntarily, then don’t quite return to meet his. “Same every year, isn’t it?”

I see him shrugging out of the corner of my eye. “Is this year like the others?”

Is it?

“Or do you mean next year?” I return, obviously evading the question.

Too much blood is going to my head. I roll over and stare at the ceiling.

“You know what I mean. This school year.”

Noncommittal grunt. Then, stalling, “Just because I’m Head Boy, and she’s Head Girl, and that we work together—”

“Didn’t—or doesn’t change a thing?” Sirius cuts in. He’s amused.

I let out a long sigh. “I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking of saying it.”

It seems we always have these types of conversations.

“It did change, you know it did.”

“Yeah.”

**_Finis_ **

**A/N:** Well that was most definitely the most broken and fragmented thing I’ve ever written. I’m quite pleased about the 200-word part though! Gives a sense of completeness, which is lacking in this story (if you can even call it one). Drop a review if you please, all suggestions and commentary appreciated.

.mische. 


	3. 021 Friends

**The Hundred Things: Friends**

_Theme 021_

**Disclaimer:** Hum, still don’t own it.   


I like to think that we’re friends.

I like to think that when she laughs, it’s with me, not at me. That she’s laughing because our latest prank is funny, not cruel, not heartless. That my quip was cleverly humorous, maybe not even clever. Just humorous.

I like to think that when she smacks my arm away from her pile of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, she’s hiding a smile behind that thick red hair. That the smack is playful, not one that will leave a blushy handprint. That her sharp retort means nothing but silliness, and that she’ll let me take the flavors she makes a face at.

I like to think that when she rolls her eyes or sighs one of _those_ sighs, it’s out of some familiar, unbreakable habit. That she’s just doing it because she has accepted me and my antics, my off-topic comments, my jokes, (and of course, my ever so debonair nature). That she’s not about to blow up and tell me off.

I like to think that when she agrees to one of my ideas, it’s because she really does see that I’m trying my best to be all that being Head Boy demands. That my idea is genuinely interesting and appealing, and not because it’s a submission, a surrender.

I like to think that she writes back the notes I toss her way because she wants to pass notes with me. That she wants to whine with me about how boring History of Magic really is, and not because she feels like she has no other choice but to write.

I like to think that she sits by me at meals because it’s something friends do. That she is voluntarily choosing to eat with me, and not because there’s an endless amount of Head business to discuss.

But as much as I like to think we’re friends…

I want to know that we are.

_**Finis**_

**A/N:** Blah. That felt weird, and totally unintelligible. I can’t seem to get my ideas across, or down on the paper (or onto the screen). Wahoo for drabbles that don’t make sense! Any critique? I’d love.

.mische. 


	4. 025 Strangers

**The Hundred Things: Strangers**

_Theme 025_

**A/N:** This little thing sprung from somewhere in my mind when I was trying to write some background sketches for “Letters to Someone.” After finishing my initial “draft,” I changed my mind. So here’s the latest of (what I hope to be) 100 vignettes.

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim ownership of James Potter (sigh) and Lily Evans.

If James Potter could have just one wish at this moment, he would wish for a stranger.

He stood by the Lake and stared, hard, at the glassy, glossy water that twinned its surroundings: two moons, two skies, two grassy hills, two giant oak trees, and two James Potters. The air was still and cool, an autumn breath wrapping itself around the lone figure.

He’d escaped in his invisibility cloak. A very handy-dandy thing to keep around. Too bad it wasn’t handy-dandy enough to vanish his problems. Or mainly, just one problem:

Lily Evans.

James grimaced at the thought of her, or rather at the thought of himself around her. A calloused hand kneaded the back of his neck familiarly, and he tore his eyes away from the crystalline surface before looking to the sky. The clouds were a milky gray, starkly contrasting with the thick indigo vastness, and they seemed to look down pityingly.

Maybe they could offer what he wanted most right now, a stranger. A stranger to maybe listen to him holler his frustrations, to maybe offer an understanding word or two, to maybe even just stand beside him and wordlessly watch the reflections in the lake as shadows grew clearer and the crescent of a pearl rose higher. A stranger, perhaps above all, just maybe to be someone who didn’t know, didn’t care, just was. To have a stranger just be there. Because those were the best kind of strangers, of course. Who didn’t judge, didn’t know, didn’t care. Those strangers would listen, then forget.

But, no. He would remember.

All James actually wanted right now was just a receiving end, either to his ranting and raving or to his silence, be it stranger or friend or foe.

Yes, that’s what he wanted.

An unusual satisfaction washed over him, and he pulled the invisibility cloak over himself and headed back to the castle.

_**Finis**_

**A/N:** I, for one, liked this. Don’t quite know why. I think we all feel like we need a stranger sometimes. Anyhoo, reviews would be very much appreciated!

.mische.


	5. 060 Drink

**The Hundred Things: Drink**

_Theme 060_

**A/N:** I was watching a friend gulp down his water bottle, and was inspired. Weird, huh?

**Disclaimer:** I own not Rosmerta, nor Lily, nor James. Nor butterbeer.

“Two butterbeers, please, Rosie. The coldest you’ve got.” He flashes one of his charming grins.

She returns almost immediately, clutching a pair of bottles, almost steaming cold in the summer heat. I cannot believe how hot May is this year. Itchy beads of sweat roll down the left side of my face, and I furiously brush them away.

The butterbeer is perfect, perfect, slipping down my throat in pulses and carrying coolness down, down, as it tumbles to my stomach. The quiet sweetness dispels the heat wrapped around me. I laugh gently, almost in relief.

I watch him drink the butterbeer, his smiling lips sliding over the mouth of the bottle, and I wonder, all of a sudden, what it would feel like to kiss him.

It would taste like butterbeer dreams, I think, and grassy winds. Bubbly giggles, and the glow behind secretive eyes, and the light-headedness that comes with mad infatuation. The dream flies away with a blink, and another blink; the sweat is sneaking into my eye. I blink again.

He’s looking at me, amusement shadowing his lips, but a look, that heavier look in his eyes, the one that makes me want to blush and shiver and fly away. I smoothly raise my bottle and clink it with his.

“To butterbeer,” we chorus.

**_Finis_ **

**A/N:** So, how was it? I admit, it was a bit more dream-like and out-of-touch than the others. Please review! 

.mische.


	6. 080 Why

**The Hundred Things: Why?**

_Theme 080_

**Disclaimer:** I plead the standard disclaimer.

The words sting, hard and prickling, as they trickle into my thoughts, yet again. They’ve been doing that all day, just sliding into my head, saturating the free space, seeping into those stray daydreams.

_Why do you hate me so much?_

Hate?

But, but I don’t hate him!

A weak defense; I almost laugh at myself.

I say I do all the time; I think I do all the time. But is it just something else that I spit out, just so he would leave me alone? Is it just something I tell everyone so that they would shut up about him and me? Is it just something I weakly prop up, something I am proud of, something that really means…nothing?

Because I would care if he died. I would care if he were run over by the Knight Bus, or if he drowned in the Lake, or if he got captured by Death Eaters, or if he were hit with one of the Unforgivable Curses. Not death, not pain, he doesn’t deserve.

And not hate. Hate is what drives people to insanity, why people kill, why people suffer. The sole reason for these…“dark days.” When skies are still bright, milk grays and the trees still rustle a familiar whisper, and when the heavy air still blankets us with some sense of security.

No. I tell myself, over and over. I do admit. It’s hard.

I do not hate James Potter. I do not. I do not. No.

I am…angry with him.

He _makes_ me angry. It’s the way things are.

“I don’t hate you, James Potter.” And my blurted words sound so thick with insincerity, tumbling out robotically and defensively. The tall stone walls hear my confession.

I wonder, in the still moment, why I ever thought I did.

_**Finis**_

**A/N:** Yes, yes, the clichéd-ness. The whole “Why do you hate me?” question. Ah, well. How’s about a review to help me over the hurdle of triteness?

.mische. 


	7. 040 Sight

**The Hundred Things: Sight**

_Theme 040_

**Disclaimer:** I own naught.

I wonder at my own ability sometimes.

How could I ever glance so fleetingly at you, and remember, with such exceeding precision, the angle at which the sunlight bounces on your eyelashes? Why is the image of you lips, ever so bent into a crooked grin, branded, glowingly hot, in my mind’s eye? And your eyes, how they spin to meet my own, and the faint heat flares up my back when I realize we’re staring at each other. Staring, and you, refusing to look away, cause the writhing fire in my body to rush up into my face, into what I know to be a most horrid shade of blush.

I do not dream of a time you when you will push a kiss onto my mouth. Nor do I revel in thoughts of flying with you into the silky, sable night sky, with a tailwind that flaps our robes and the web of stars woven above our heads. I do not even imagine your long, smooth arms murmuring against the skin of my waist, or my fingertips skimming across your bare chest, or your soft, lowered voice teasing my ear.

No. Indeed, I do not think these things.

Instead, my mind floods with wishes, painful wishes that yearn for you to look at me in class. Look at me when I look at you. Just look this way, once, or twice. A fourth time will even suffice. Besides, you always already know when I’m ready to look at you again, when I’ve brushed away that dizzying snapshot from my last glance in your direction. My mind is cleared; I can twist my neck, just that slightly, and focus right on you.

And always, the sunlight sparkles in your spectacles and casts shadows on your cheek, do you know?

I do.

_**Finis**_   


**A/N:** Huh. That was quite odd. I, like our dear Lily here, stare in glances. It’s a quirk, I guess. But, yes. My main point was, review, please?

.mische. 


	8. 066 Rain

**The Hundred Things: Rain**

_Theme 066_

**Disclaimer:** Don’t own it.

I look up at the sky, squinting at the bright, milky grey.

“How do you know?”

“I know these things,” he says offhandedly. He shrugs, and that grin, that I’m-James-Potter grin, slides onto his face. He catches the look on my face, which must be one of amused skepticism. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” I reply in the same light tone. “The sky’s looked like this all day. Why now?”

We’re still for a while, then, without warning, he locks his arms around me from behind. I give a little gasp.

“Don’t look at the sky,” he says softly. His deep voice murmurs near my ear, and I lean back onto him, caught in the lulling of his voice. “Close your eyes. You can feel it in the air.”

I obey him.

“Can you feel it?”

I try, but fail. All I can feel is James Potter. His arms warm my waist. His breath flutters the hair near my left ear. I’m slipping into a dreamy haze, one that I’m perfectly content to stay in forever.

Then, I feel it.

“It’s going to come…now.” He echoes my thoughts.

And the sky finally opens upon us.

**_Finis_ **

**A/N:** Yay for 200-word drabbles! But awfully short, I must admit. How’s about that review?

.mische. 


	9. 002 Middles

**The Hundred Things: Middles**

_Theme 002_

**Disclaimer:** You should learn to stop checking to see if I own this.

**A/N:** I was debating whether or not to put this in _The Hundred Things_ , purely because this could stand on its own. That being said, I realize many parts (especially toward the end), it dwindles down to drabbling. And more drabbling. Thus, the placement in this story. I supposed change is good, though! Onward!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Lily, you have _got_ to talk to him.”

I look up as Alice Walden plops onto my bed, smiling a smile that’s showing her laughter at my, uhm, situation, shall we call it. My fingers, meanwhile, calmly turn the page of my Charms textbook. To which I am not paying the least attention.

“Lily.”

I sigh, and the breath whooshes out through my nose. “I know. I will.”

“I suppose he thinks he’s good at hiding it from you?” she chuckles.

“Well then, I suppose he thinks wrong.”

She laughs. “But you will talk to him. Right?”

When I met Alice, my first impression was of this quiet, quiet girl. She sat beside me in Charms first year, and mostly she listened to and laughed at Bethany and me. We were the wild and crazy and loud-laughing ones; Alice only looked on and giggled silently behind her mouth. Until I began to get to know her better and better. Sleeping in the same dormitory can do that to people, I suppose. Although Bethany Fenwick was my first friend at Hogwarts, and still one of my closest, she was a Ravenclaw, and we never had the chance to stay up until two and talk and laugh into pillows. Alice grew closer to me, and as she grew closer, she revealed to be just as silly and fun-loving as anyone. Though she never did seem to lose her quiet aura. It’s a peaceful quiet, the kind of quiet you want to sit down and talk into, knowing that she will listen, and simply listen.

I guess that’s why James Potter always ends up talking to her. Talking to her about me.

Ah, yes. James Potter. A marauder, as he and his bunch like to call themselves. Star Chaser. Annoying git. Comedian. Stalker. Charmer. Brillant kid. Bully. Gentleman. Prankster supreme. And friend, of course. It’s all very mixed-up, you see. We had quite the history.

I remember meeting him in first year and thinking he was the funniest boy I’d ever met. Moreover, looking at him made my little heart do pit-a-pats. I was always looking for ways to sit next to him or catch his eye or sneak stares at his hair. Merlin, I fancied my little heart out.

Then, one day, Bethany and I found frogs–live, hopping, slimy little frogs–in our soup bowls. Screaming ensued, as well as loud laughter from down the table, where–guess who–James and Sirius were sitting. Rather than apologies, which I–being the foolish little girl that I was–had expected, more pranks soon followed. Hair colors–changed! Ink wells–exploded!

By the end of third year, I could barely bite back my anger every time I saw him lift his wand or quirk a smirk. Of course, I would’ve been fine, carrying on in shooting him glares and screaming at him every time my hair was tinged purple, but with someone as volatile as James Potter, well, let’s just say nothing ever goes as planned.

Fifth year, the obnoxious public displays of affection started. This was the period of Following Lily Around To No End. Oh, and the occasional date offer thrown in here and there. I was too angry to be embarrassed, often storming away at the sight of him. Then, one bright blue day, I told him off as I’d never done before, totally flying off the handle and speaking in low, condescending tones instead of my usual huffy yelling.

After that, everything changed. Again. I guess I really got to him that time.

He seemed to withdraw from everything to do with me for a while. He barely glanced at me in the halls and only spoke to me when necessary, and in light tones. There was no anger in his face, or even bitterness. I was another girl in his Gryffindor. I admit I was worried at first about somehow, in some way, emotionally scarring him for life, but he was just as normal as he could be around his friends. He’d just stopped being obnoxious toward me. For that I was ever grateful to the higher power above.

Over the summer, he surprised me with a simple letter asking how my summer was going and that he was bored, although Sirius was probably engaging in some illegal activities some twenty metres away from him. (Something about a motorcycle?) It was a friendly gesture, which I returned, and we began a good-humoured correspondence.

So came sixth year, with a growing friendship with James Potter. My current state, in which I am wholly content. Everything’s groovy.

Except maybe for Alice. She’s been my semi-messenger for James’ thoughts for some time. At first, it was weird, having Alice just tell me things I feel like I really didn’t have the right to know. And yet, I knew that he’d fancied me incredibly in the past, and even now? That’s what she insists. And there’s a part of my believing her wholeheartedly. The signs are there.

“You know, he told me the other day that he was jealous of you hugging other blokes,” Alice says abruptly. She falls back onto my pillow.

“Hmm? What? What other blokes?” I find myself confused, a bit guilty, and maybe even pleased.

“Oh, just friends. He knows they’re just friends. Remus, and Garrett.”

“Wh—well, yeah! Like he said, they’re just friends. He’s closer.”

“Yes, but you can’t expect a smitten bloke not to be jealous when he sees the Girl hugging some other ‘friend.’ Especially when the ‘friend’ is of the male gender.”

“Well, I can’t do the same with him,” I protest. She perks an eyebrow, urging me to continue. “I can’t do that with James. It’s weird. What if he thinks I’m leading him on? What if he gets the wrong impression? It’s frustrating, because I feel limited, and I can’t just hug him like I hug Remus or Garrett.” I pause. “He’ll get the wrong impression, and then what? I’ll feel incredibly guilty and torn between my duties as a friend, a good friend, maybe even a best friend, because he’s the best friend that’s a bloke that I have, and that’s just awkward, hugging him. What if he gets the wrong impression? If he even wants more, that is.”

Alice gives a little “Hum” in reply. Then,

“But you _will_ talk to him, right?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At my command, the scrap parchment whizzes across the room as Binns’ back is turned.

_I think I have something important (semi-serious) to talk to you about. Is lunch okay?_

_-L_

_Sure thing._

_-J_

_P.S. Should I be scared?_

I smile at the last note, knowing that he was probably scribbling that down jokingly, but there was that little twinge inside, hoping James wasn’t scared. Maybe he already knows what’s in my mind. I don’t glance at him for the remainder of the class.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey there.” It’s James.

“Oh, hey!” I smile. “There you are.”

He sits down on my right and starts to pile his plate with chicken.

“Sorry I’m late. I, uhm, yeah. Had some stuff to take care of.”

“Oh, no problem.”

He starts eating, and I watch the next table casually. Silently.

“So what’d you want to talk about?”

“Oh, uhm.” I shovel some food around on my dish. What do I say, what do I say, what do I say. “Us?” I finally supply, quietly and squeakily. I wince.

“Mm. Okay,” he nods. “All right.”

He waits.

And I start awkwardly. “So, I, er, know that you used to, er, fancy me, and well, I don’t know about now?” Great Merlin, I’m blushing horridly and stuttering worse than a three-year-old learning his phonetic sounds.

He sighs a bit and rests his chin on his hand. “Yeah, well, I know I was a complete git back then, always following you around and, er, yeah.” He coughs. “I’m sorry. I really am. See, the thing is, I didn’t even really realize it.”

Here I laugh. “Really now.”

“I know. Stupid, right? Maybe I knew it subconsciously, er, I don’t know! Then, well, then you told me off and I realized what a prat I was being.”

“So you backed off,” I nod.

“So I did.” 

We dip into a lull in the conversation, but the question is burning, burning, burning on my tongue, demanding to be released.

“What about now?” I burst out abruptly. He turns his head to look at me in surprise, but I look down at my hands. How utterly vain that sounded! I feel embarrassment hot on my cheeks. “Do you still…?”

“Er, well, I–” He’s looking away. Merlin, he’s trying to hide from me, dodge the question, just looking clear on the other side. “I, er, I–”

The bell cuts in, the echoing chime ringing throughout the Hogwarts grounds. He doesn’t finish his sentence and starts stuffing things into his bag. I feel like hitting my head on the table. Could this conversation get any worse?

“Erm, well thanks for talking with me,” I say, then instantly feel betrayed by my own tongue. Now he’s free to go.

He nods and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Sure thing.” The lopsided grin is suddenly back. Why does he do that? Doesn’t he know, doesn’t he know that I need to know that–!

He turns to go, walk off to his class, in the complete opposite direction of mine. 

“Oy, James!” I call. I need to hear the end, I need to!

He turns. I somehow find myself smiling.

“Don’t think this conversation is over just yet.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So, did you talk to him yet?” Alice nudges my side.

“Yeah. At lunch.”

“Well?”

“It really wasn’t all that bad.”

“Told you so.”

“He didn’t really tell me much that I didn’t know though,” I shrug.

She laughs. “Well then, tell him to.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey--hey, Lily!”

“Oh, hey,” I pause and wait for James to catch up with me.

We walk in a companionable silence, before James says, “So, er, about that unfinished conversation.”

“Yes?” I’m more than surprised that he brought it up without poking and prodding on my part.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “Yes,” he says, voice soft and sure.

I feel something bolt up from my stomach, straight to my throat.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, in answer to your question.” He looks me directly in the eyes, then, cheeks flushing slightly, he walks away.

And I’m left without knowing what to think.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A familiar tawny-patterned owl taps eagerly on the window. A letter from James.

_I know I just left right after I told you…what I told you. But I meant it. And it’s all right, because you don’t have to do a single thing. I’ll be here for you always._

_-J_

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I stare at the ceiling in the dark room that night.

I’m thinking.

I’m thinking I’ve reached a conclusion.

Maybe, one day, I’ll want to kiss him and let him hold me and dance with me. And when that day comes, maybe I’ll suddenly realize that I’m in love with him, and that I’ve loved him for some time, and I’ll know that I want to be with him, and it’ll be right. But for now, he’s my friend. I can’t see him like that just yet. I can’t walk beside him and want to grab his hand and swing it back and forth. I can’t look at him across a room and want nothing else but to jump up and snog him.

Not yet; I can’t lead him into a lie.

So, for now, he’ll wait, and I’ll see.

**_Finis_ **

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**A/N:** Ah, endings. You have yet to be mastered. And, ah, readers. How do you feel about reviewing?

.mische. 


	10. 004 Insides

**The Hundred Things: Insides**

_Theme 004_

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**A/N:** Hum. Attempts to squeeze feelings into words. Do enjoy, will you? Drop a review, too, if you please.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lily rolled over, struggling to find a cool spot on her bed, for what must have been the hundredth time.

Time, goodness, the _time_. It was four fifty-two. And she had that blasted Arithmancy exam in four hours.

It had been a hard night's sleep. All starting with that cursed Sirius Black. Lily groaned silently.

. . . . 

"You never told me!" Sirius accused, abruptly changing the topic. 

"Told you what?" James muttered, scribbling away and not bothering to look up.

"Yes, do tell," Lily added. She gave no sign of interest, however, as she was seated somewhat farther away from the two boys and comfortably cradled in the squashy armchair with a textbook.

"That you're with that Ravenclaw girl."

No response, but Lily's eyes stopped moving across the page for an instant.

"The younger one?" he continued prodding.

James shrugged. "Her name's Bridget, and she's a year younger."

"You like her?" Lily kept her tone detached.

James paused in his writing, and Lily thought she saw his expression swerve a bit, into a faint grin. The moment passed.

"But of course."

. . . .

Lily was confused. And, in the back corners of her mind, a smidge resentful. She resented her own self for that nagging feeling.

She turned onto her side under her covers.

James liked _her_. That was how it worked. Heavens, it sounded outrageously selfish, but it was true. The childish teasing had evolved into horridly annoying date offers over the years, then into a quieter, somewhat subdued fancy. Blatantly open flirting at times, but Lily had gotten used to it somewhere along the way. It was dependable, constant.

Like their friendship this year.

Yes, it was an odd balance, Lily admitted, but it was somewhat safe. A safety, that James would be there for her, as a friend, though she knew that he fancied her. And he knew she knew. It worked.

Lily forced herself to shift out of her perspective. It was a strategy she found that worked quite well, especially in resolving her conflicts with others.

Had she been hurting him all along with this friendship? He fancied her, but they were friends. Both acknowledged the one-sided feeling. She was content. Was he?

Taking it all for granted, that's what she had been doing all along. Lily threw off her bed sheets in the frustrating heat.

Maybe he had tired of waiting.

. . . . 

And why in the name of Godric was she hurting? A dull, soft pain, but one that bloomed after tonight's revelation.

Lily didn't fancy him.

He was her friend, and she, in the duties of friendship, should be happy for him, if not a bit bothered that he hadn't told her (or Sirius, so safely assuming he hadn't told anyone, for that matter).

After all, if she had reciprocated the feelings, she would've told him. Or showed him? Lily rewound her recent interactions with James. Had she shown more than friendliness? Even bordering on the edges of being a couple?

She didn't need it. Not now. Prefect duties and schoolwork and her social life were enough. A boyfriend was not needed to weigh more on her mind.

But it shouldn't be a burden anyway.

. . . . 

Before drifting off to a blurred, achy sleep again, Lily scolded herself. Why should her emotional stability have depended on, of all things, James' affection?

**_Finis_ **

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

.mische. 


	11. 089 Work

**The Hundred Things: Work  
**

_Theme 089_

**Disclaimer:** Do not own it.

\- - - - - - - - - -

_You distract me. I just wanted to tell you that. I just wanted to let you know that you've been distracting me, and I can't concentrate on my work at all._

_I'm sitting here, staring at this piece of parchment and ink and its words hold no meaning whatsoever, because I try to study Everlasting Elixirs, and I think of you instead. Your words, whether spoken or written or however communicated, tumble over and over through my head. I can't concentrate, do you understand?  
_

_Why do you have to go and say those things, those words that are so thoughtful, and yet you say them so effortlessly as if you've been saying them for a lifetime and a half — wh_ _y? You don't mean to agonize me in this way, do you? You wouldn't want our conversations and our moments to detract from my learning process, would you? I'm Head Girl, bloody Head Girl, do you understand? Merlin, my last year and my marks are the poorest they've ever been, and the most horrifying thing is that I'm not doing a blasted thing to change it because I don't care, because you just keep distracting me and_ _—_

_You're just trying to woo me, aren't you? You know, you know that you confuse me so much that it twists my brains into bends and curves until it can't function. You say those things, and you've said them all along, so why am I just now noticing them, paying them so much attention, refusing to release them from my mind? What have you done to me?_

_I don't want to do my essays and charts and readings. I want to see you. I want to see you and just talk to you, and maybe we can go out by the lake because the sun is out. We can lay down on the grass and squint into the brilliant sky and suck on flower stems and just laugh, because you make me laugh and squrim inside. I'm squirming, can you tell?  
_

_Merlin, I can't concentrate, and it is all. Your. Fault._

\- - - - - - - - - -

Lily tossed her quill aside, capped her inkwell, and breathed out. Slowly, slowly. Maybe this would get him out of her mind. Maybe this time.

With a wave, she Vanished the scrap of spare parchment, while the last strokes were still shiny with wet ink, and returned to her open Potions textbook.

**_Finis_ **

\- - - - - - - - - -

**A/N:** On a more personal note, I really can't concentrate right now. I just can't. (Reviews may help in the distraction!)

.mische. 


	12. 032 Sunset

**The Hundred Things: Sunset**

_Theme 032_

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns.

\- - - - - - - - - -

All I can really see are his lips. They're shaking, just the tiniest bit, mere centimeters away from my own. I can feel us breathing together, our breaths swirling into each other, warm in the chill of the autumn afternoon. He doesn't know it, but I'm watching his mouth. My eyes are open just a crack, looking like they're still closed, as they have been for the past, oh, I don't know. Forever, I suppose. I've been waiting. His lips move a little, as he presses them together, then licks them. I think this is a sure sign he's going to kiss me. Is he just nervous?

I keep my laughter in my chest. He is nervous.

We're so close. I can feel the closeness of our lips, our noses, our bodies. It presses in around me, rolling delightfully over my skin, and I absorb it with eyes closed now. My fingers, when I concentrate on them, are cold and enfolded in the collar of his robes. I want to pull him foward, just that slight bit, and meet his mouth. But I don't. I'll wait for him. I'll stay just that slight space away, just out of reach for now, because I can stay in this moment forever, with his linked arms catching my waist if I lean back, and our foreheads resting, noses rubbing.

Sometimes I get a little restless. I shift my face into the crook of his neck. My cheek brushes by his as I do so, and his skin is smooth against my own. When my eyes are closed, I can feel so much better. My sense of touch is amplified, and I feel proximity, and glowing warmth,

and in the next moment, his lips on my own.

Finally. 

I never really knew the secret to getting _fireworks!_ in kisses. Everything is just still. We might as well be wooden, or statues, frozen in time. A million pieces of thoughts are flying through my head, so much that I can't think at all. But as time quietly slips by, the warmth spreads everywhere, and my stomach swoops funnily, over and over again. 

He pulls away, for a moment, before dipping his head back down, wanting more. It is light as his lips gently rub against my mouth. I take it in unhurriedly, letting the seconds drip slowly, slowly, slowly.

Behind me, the sun sinks quietly out of sight. 

_**Finis** _

\- - - - - - - - - -

**A/N:** Holy moly. I have not written in a long long long long loooooooooooog time. So I'm actually very bleck!-ish about this. Please tell me what you think; reviews will be much appreciated!

.mische.


	13. 085 She

**The Hundred Things: She**

_Theme 085_   


**Disclaimer:** Don’t own it!

\- - - - - - - - - - 

I’m usually not one to say that I’m prettier or smarter or better than someone else. And yet I stand in front of the mirror some mornings—when I’m not too late or finishing up homework due in ten minutes—, with arms akimbo and my right hip jutting out of line, and I stare at my face and body and silly flyaway hair. I turn to the side and turn back to face the mirror again. I don’t hate it, my body. Unlike most teenage girls—and I _am_ , or at least I would like to consider myself unlike the masses of teenage girls—, I actually kind of like my figure and skin and maybe even the freckles.

Not to sound egotistical, but if I were a bloke, I wouldn’t think myself to be too bad of a catch.

Too bad that _does_ sound egotistical, though. Especially when those other girls like to flounce around bemoaning their every flaw, nonexistent flaws. I don’t understand it. Why are they willing to place themselves so low just to hear the words:

“What are you talking about? You are _so_ pretty! I would _love_ to have your figure!…”

And I feel bitter. It’s an evil and twisted feeling, I know. I shouldn’t feel it. I shouldn’t be angry or jealous, but I walk down the halls and _Merlin help me_ , I see those girls to whom the boys simply…gravitate. That’s the only word that comes to mind. Like a comet pulled from its normal orbit to some too-bright, too-hot star. It’s sickening yet fascinating all at the same time, and I look away, and I try to blot out their bright, moon-white faces and light, loud laughter from my mind. They are the brash and brazen ones, able to walk straight up to a bloke and without a second thought, kiss him, nice and hard and good.

Where do they learn to _do_ that? 

I know, even deep down, that I don’t need a boy for my happiness. I really do. But sometimes I sigh and moon like a silly fool. Sometimes I pretend not to look when I see a pretty little thing giggle, muffled in the chest of a boy. And sometimes something in my stomach lurches with want.

Sometimes it’s the nicest thing in the world, I think, to just have a sweet smooch on the cheek or lips, or little hand-picked flowers from sunny days, or warm fingers to thread through when walking to breakfast.

But no, no, no. I don’t want to be in love with love, with the feeling of being able to fly over the moon or with the idea of the perfect Valentine. No, I want to be in love with a boy, a man, another human being. I’m not looking for just anyone. It’s got to be someone…someone _right_. 

Cue sigh.

Is it possible to be a bit too cynical and a bit too idealistic? 

**_Finis_ **

\- - - - - - - - - -

**A/N:** Well, whadda you know. I’m back.

This piece was inspired by a little blurb I read online:

_Girls are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. The boys don’t want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they get the rotten apples from the ground, which aren’t as good, but easy. So the apples on top think something’s wrong with them, when in reality there is absolutely nothing wrong with them. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who’s brave enough to climb all the way to the top._

You’re beautiful! Really, you are. (:

.mische.


	14. 033 Too Much

**The Hundred Things: Too Much**

_Theme 033_

Lily Evans used to think that there would always be too much James Potter in her life. He was everywhere and always, around the corners and up staircases, in her face and hair, obnoxiously loud and proud of it. Her fleeting wishes, when wishing on silly things such as dandelion weeds and eyelashes, used to be,

_I wish I didn’t have so much Potter in my life…_

Then came the time there was too little James Potter in her day. Oh, how the world turned around on her, topsy-turvy. It made her absolutely, hatefully dizzy. In a very inward part of her heart, so deep she couldn’t reach down there half the time, she was resentful because he had become just who she’d wanted him to be. _Mature_ and _responsible_ and for the sake of all things magical,

_utterly wonderful…_

Lily bit back her laugh at the irony of it all, because now, for reasons she couldn’t begin to comprehend, the James Potter Meter was back at “Too Much.”

She couldn’t lose her mask of hard concentration. The concentration was, however, not focused on the Potions textbook, open to chapter fourteen in front of her, but on finding a way _out_. A way _away_.

She sighed inwardly. James was prattling on about some vague concept that Lily wouldn’t be the least bit interested in if it weren’t coming out of _his_ mouth, but it was. And here was the thing, the change. She _still_ wasn’t interested.

Lily couldn’t stand much more of this. This utter immersion into James Potter, this need of his to spend every waking moment with her, because she’d gotten past the stage of fluttery feelings and red-hot blushes and moved onto something deeper, something hopefully more serious. Something that, she mused, would mean more trust and faith and _independence_ from each other.

All she wanted was some alone time this week. Not a “break” from the relationship, not even anything of the sort. She still fancied him, still liked him, still liked spending time with him. But she just wanted some time to herself, and James had sensed her boredom and thus felt that he wasn’t being interesting enough, wasn’t talking enough, wasn’t _being_ enough for her. How wrong he was.

He was going to push her over the edge, he was. Because he wasn’t being possessive (she would _never_ stand for that), but just always all over her. He always thought of her. He was always concerned for her. He was always trying to keep on impressing her, keep on amusing her, keep on keeping her. She wasn’t going _anywhere_. But she could not just return that level of utter devotion, utter selflessness, just yet.

She glanced at him suddenly, noticing the silence that had fallen upon him. He was looking at her with an earnest, yet guarded expression. Her heart lurched a little.

But here was her chance, and she was taking it. Taking it straight out of the library door and outside, to the bright grey sky and the rustling leaves and for herself, for herself _alone_. Her chair squealed too loudly as she stood up, and they winced at the noise.

“I – I have to go.”

James blinked, a hopelessness surging into his eyes. She froze, and then imprinted a light smile onto his forehead, hoping the brief gesture of affection would assure him that she still wanted to be with him, but for now, it was just a little too much.

**_Finis_ **

**A/N:** Written in a rush, because I didn’t want to lose the feeling. I would love any criticism or feedback. As always, thank you for reading.

.mische. 


End file.
